The Dead Can't Testify
by CallMeBlind
Summary: Love may have no bounds,but the law certainly does. SherlockXWatson. R & R!


The Death Can't Testify

There was always rain when events of great tragedy were to take place. On that day, the rain nor the threat of thunder could stop the crowd from flooding in waves down the cobblestone streets and into the square in the center of town. They would see the spectacle that was to take place, even if it meant being soaked. Scotland Yard officers lined every entrance to the square, blocking the crowd and keeping them from reaching the tall wooden structures that had been made ready for use in the center square. The Gallows. As the first crack of thunder sounded over the newly crowded London Square, the accused was dragged from his cell.

A nameless constable dragged the almost limp body of the exhausted prisoner across the square toward the rope. His head, covered in a black sac, hung almost lifelessly as he was pulled up the poorly built wooden stairs and forced to stand before the crowds. The sac was pulled from his head to revile the face of the guilty man. Blond hair, dull blue eyes, tan skin, scars and fresh bruises. The spitting image of a disgraced military man, dragged through the mud, beaten and broken. His eyes dare not look upon the crowd around him or the executioner in front of him. John Watson felt no need to give them the satisfaction of seeing the complete torture behind his eyes.

No priest present. No, this crime did not deserve one. The conviction was to great for that. Only two officers to ensure he made no attempt to escape. It was as though they believed that he had the energy to do so. After days of torture, he was to tired to even try. As the judge before he began to read out his charges, he was all to aware that there was no hope left. He was going to die.

When his eyes finally did turn up to look around him it was for no other reason than to search the crowd. He was looking for someone. Just one person. The last man he wanted to see before he died, but he should have known better. Sherlock Holmes was out of town, hence the only reason he was in this position. He would never seen his lover again and that hurt him more than death ever could. The crowd roared as the charges were finished and Watson's eyes caught sight of a commotion. They rested on it's location, realizing that the cause was an old friend. Inspector Lestrade was attempting one final plea for his life. He could hear very little of what was said, but a few words reached him here and there.

"…Can't do this to him! He's a doctor for the crown!" He was trying so hard. "He's kept… Help of… Sherlock Holmes! How can you even… he'd be guilty?!"

It was not going to work, and Watson knew it. His eyes fell shut again as he was asked if he had anything left to say before the rope was fastened around his neck. He took a moment of thought, reflecting on anything and everything he could say, but in the end, he could think of only one thing.

"You people are pigs. You reject that with is different, or very much the same." He eyed the judge in front of him. "I'm sure Reginald with be pleased to hear you hung your own kind today."

The bag was shoved over his head in a hurry. He felt the rope slip around his neck and tighten. It was over. He took a final breath, muttering the last words he would ever speak and the only thing he cold think as he heard the executioner move for the lever.

"I'm so sorry. Good bye, Holmes."

The terrible clack of the trap-door releasing and the sickening crack that sounded from the doctor's neck were drown out by the roar of the crowd. The only sound that could be heard over the cheering people was the sound of Lestrade's scream and in time, nothing was heard at all. The crowd was silent as the body was taken off the rope, silent, save for one voice.

"Let me through!" Came the frustrated voice of a man shoving his way through the crowd. "Lestrade!"

The inspector stepped up to the front of the crowd, taking the hand of the man pushing his way through and leading him out. His eyes spoke volumes more than his mouth ever could as he looked upon the man Watson wished he could have. Sherlock Holmes stood in shock, staring at the body the officers by the gallows were carrying away.

"I'm sorry Holmes…" The inspector's eyes filled with tears. "I'm so sorry. I couldn't stop 'em."

"You couldn't… WHAT HAPPENED?!" Sherlock pulled Lestrade off the ground by his shirt.

"Someone told them! The higher-ups acted before I could do anything! They broke into Baker Street and took him! He was sentenced within the day and they carried it out seconds ago!" The inspector tried to explain.

"Why the hell didn't you stop them!?!" Sherlock's eyes were swimming in tears.

He could barley speak now. He shoved Lestrade away from himself, dashing toward the Officers carrying the doctor's corpse. They were knocked aside as Holmes' arms wrapped around the lifeless shell that he had once had the joy of loving, of kissing, of holding through the night. As the rain poured over the scene, it was clear. It was over. All he had come to know, all he had come to love, was gone. As tears streamed from his eyes, the officers dragged him from the corpse and try as he might to fight back, he could not. They took the body from the scene and the crowd cleared away. Lestrade remained some distance from Holmes as the broken man lay crumpled on the ground, trying to let the rain drawn him.

It was an hour before Lestrade dared to approach him. He lay a hand on Holmes, and was immediately forced away. Holmes stood from the ground, hanging his head and stepping toward the cab he had waiting, riding home to Baker Street.

And that was the last we ever saw of the great detective. They found his body in the apartment days later, but I was not allowed to see it. It was not as though I wanted to. It had been bad enough watching the Doctor hang… Sherlock Holmes, the world greatest detective, could not take the pain of losing his Watson.

Clarke


End file.
